


Sub Rosa

by Zelos



Series: Administrivia [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Friendship, Gen, High School, Mentors, Minor Character(s), POV Minor Character, POV Outsider, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: Maybe we can’t fix the system. But we can get them through it first.Five times Principal Morita covered for Peter and Ned.Spoilers for Spider-Man: Homecoming.





	Sub Rosa

**Author's Note:**

> _sub rosa_ \- Latin, literally “under the rose,” as an emblem of secrecy.

**1.**

Ken Morita was halfway through reciting his take-out order when his phone rang. The caller ID showed Midtown Tech. He shot the man an apologetic look and waved at the next patron to take his place. “Hello?”

“Ken, get back to the school.” Janet’s voice was a hiss, tension thrumming in every word. “The Department of Damage Control is here.”

“ _What?_ ” Ken was already moving, shouldering his way through the thick crowd. “What are they doing here?”

“They’re looking for Ned Leeds.”

_Shit._ Ken hung up without another word. “Sorry, excuse me, coming through!” At least New Yorkers weren’t strangers to a guy in a hurry. As soon as he cleared the crowd, Ken began to run.

It took Ken a good ten minutes to sprint back to campus—of course this happened when he decided to treat himself lunch at the good sandwich shop further away. The entire office was on high alert: everyone was at their desk and ostensibly working, but their frozen postures told otherwise. As soon as Ken pushed open the office door every eye in the room was on him.

“Conference room,” Janet whispered. Ken blew past her without a word.

The conference room door was closed. Standing in front of it was a man in a dark suit who looked like he disappeared people for a living. He shifted to block Ken’s way. “Restricted access.”

Ken skidded to a stop. For a moment they stood there, sizing each other up. The only audible sound was Ken’s panting and—was that crying?

Without warning, Ken slammed his left shoulder into the guard. There wasn’t much force behind it—shifting his weight would’ve telegraphed his intent—but it bought him a split second. He dove for the door and wrenched it open.

Ned Leeds sat at the conference table, hunched over, his face full of tears. An older woman with platinum blonde hair watched Ned from across the table, unmoved. A second guard was standing watch and immediately moved to intercept.

Behind Ken, there was an ominous click.

Ken closed his eyes. “I know you don’t play by the rules.” The words shook, two parts fury to five parts fear. “But he is _fifteen goddamned years old_. I don’t care what he did or didn’t do, you don’t terrorize _children_.”

“Principal Morita?” The woman turned around, a serene smile on her face. “We’re not terrorizing. We only wanted to ask Ned here a few questions, but he’s too upset to answer.” She waved her hand. Both guards relaxed; the one outside closed the door. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck?”

It took Ken a moment to remember to breathe. Another moment to actually move. He knelt down beside Ned with rigid limbs and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey.” His voice cracked. He has been mugged and held at knifepoint, but in this room full of the government’s defenders he has never felt more afraid. “Ned? Are you okay?”

The boy froze at the touch, then threw himself into Ken’s side with a fresh burst of tears. Ned may think of him as the devil incarnate, but he was at least a familiar face. The devil you knew.

Ken held the boy and did not turn around. “What do you want?” The words were thick. The sound of the cocking pistol was still ringing in his ears.

“Video surveillance and eyewitness testimony confirmed that this boy, Ned Leeds, was the one to bring a Chitauri power core into the Washington monument. You of course know the results.” She fixed the sobbing boy with a piercing look. “We need to know how he came into possession of such a weapon. Who gave it to him? What was he planning to do with it?”

Ken has no idea how to answer. He has a pretty good guess of how Ned obtained the core, but he knew better to tell this pack of wolves. Peter could lift cars on two hours of sleep, but alibis clearly was not a part of his superpower skillset.

Stall, then. “What took you this long? It’s been weeks.”

“It’s a tourist attraction. It took some time to narrow it down to the decathlon students, and separate them by school.” Her voice was wry. “I will admit we should’ve been here sooner. There were many incidents in a short time frame, and we were understaffed.”

_And whose fault is that?_ He knew better than to say it. They weren’t here for him, and there was a fine line between a principal defending his kid and a man covering others’ tracks. He shook Ned gently, praying that he and Peter had rehearsed some answers. “Ned?” The boy’s breathing had levelled out, little sniffles instead of wracking sobs. Still terrified, but less now with someone in his corner. “Do you know what happened?”

Sniffle, sniffle.

_Fuck._ Ken wracked his brain for something plausible, some leading phrases Ned could hang an alibi on. “Anyone strange you’ve seen? Around your home, at school? Anything?”

Ned shifted a little. “There were two guys looking around at school. They went into the lab.” The words were mumbled, dazed and thick. Kid wasn’t thinking, just answering.

“At school?” Ken repeated numbly. This was news to him. This _shouldn_ _’t_ be news to him. This was _his_ school. “When?”

“Week or two before homecoming.”

“Did they drop something and come back?” Ken was making this up whole cloth now for Ned, but at least he still sounded like he had plausible deniability. Jesus, how did his life turn into this?

Ned curled in on himself, still trembling. “It looked cool,” he whispered. It was as close to an affirmative as they were going to get.

Ken turned back to the Damage Control agents. “We can pull security footage. A couple of them might’ve caught their faces. You can run a match on Toomes’ associates.” Maybe once Ned calmed down he could build upon the story, but for now, this was all he has.

The woman clucked her tongue. “They just walked in? Your security is really lacking.”

“Look,” Ken gritted out, “another one of their crew nearly killed this same boy with alien gauntlets. Our security measures aren’t meant for meta-humans.”

“That’s on you, Principal.”

His insides were liquid and his clothes were soaked with sweat. Ken closed his eyes, his too-short life flashing across the back of his eyelids. “Yeah, it is.”

 

**2.**

Generally speaking, a principal’s job was administrative. He ensured the school ran smoothly: the staffing was adequate, the equipment procured on time, the programs in accordance with educational guidelines. He trusted his staff to do their jobs, and he didn’t need to be involved in the details and minutiae of sending a student home unless the circumstances were severe. They sent him FYI emails that he usually didn’t read until the end of the week, when he was tabulating whether or not absences were becoming a pattern.

However, Ken paid a lot more attention to Peter Parker’s name nowadays. (He did not set up a custom filter on his email; he knew better than to leave electronic trails.) When he spotted Peter’s name in a message about the nurse’s office he decided it would be a good time to stretch his legs.

“Getting some air?” Janet asked as he walked past.

A headache, more like. “Mm-hmm.”

Either the walls were too thin or he was really attuned to Peter’s voice nowadays, because twenty-five feet away from the nurse’s office he could hear Peter’s voice, piping and shrill: “I’m fine, really, I don’t need to go home.”

The nurse murmured something at a much more appropriate volume that he couldn’t make out. Ken quickened his steps. Peter’s voice started up again, “no, really, I’m—”

Ken knocked politely and pushed the door open. “Is everything okay? I could hear you in the hall.”

“Mr Morita.” Grace nodded her greeting; Peter stared from his curled up position on the far edge of the cot, an arrested expression on his face. “Peter’s feeling unwell. He just adamantly refuses to let me look at him or let me send him home.”

Ken studied the boy for a moment. There was sweat on Peter’s brow. His eyes were bruised and his face was pale; even curled up where he was he looked unsteady, like he might tip over backward. “Peter?”

Peter shook his head and found his voice again. “Please don’t call my aunt.” He swallowed. “She’s a nurse too. She has all graveyard shifts this week. Please don’t wake her up.”

Grace looked dubious. “If she’s a nurse, I think she will more than understand.”

“How about this,” Ken interrupted as Peter opened his mouth to protest, “eat something first.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out two energy gels and three protein bars. “Lie down, and if you don’t look better in twenty minutes, Nurse Park will call your aunt. Deal?”

It wasn’t open to debate and the kid knew it. Peter stifled the last of his protest and nodded. Ken set the food down at the foot of the cot and glanced over at Grace. “C’mon.” With a sigh, she rose and followed him out, shutting the door behind them.

They stood at the door for a moment. “Emergency stash?” she said quietly. Through the door, they could hear wrappers crinkling.

“Yeah.” Ken started walking and she followed.

Grace made a face. “He’s not diabetic. I checked his records. Not that he’d let me get anywhere near him with a glucometer. Or with anything, really.”

“I don’t think it’s diabetes. I think he’s just hungry.” Stark could design a portal into space but not remember that most people couldn’t go out and buy a grocery store on demand. Go figure. Ken added another item to the list of grievances he has with Stark. If they ever had the displeasure to meet they’d have a lot to talk about.

She frowned. “Lunch was an hour ago.”

“You know kids and their metabolisms.” Ken shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t eat enough at home. Single parent, magnet school. Sometimes things get hard.”

Grace sighed. “I wish they’d say something.”

“We hand out lunch vouchers to kids who should be on meal assistance but won’t, because they can’t bear to have differently coloured cafeteria cards.” Ken stared down the hall, eyes distant. “Maybe we can’t fix the system. But we can get them through it first.”

 

**3.**

Ken didn’t see Peter or Ned for several weeks. Maybe someone up high had heeded his complaints. Maybe the kids were scared straight. Whatever the reason, both of them were model students. They aced all their quizzes, submitted all their homework (not copied from each other, either), showed up to all their classes, and generally disappeared from their teachers’ radars.

Not only was it disconcerting, it was also really bloody inconvenient.

As he had expected, some eagle-eyed person in accounting did eventually notice the rapid depletion of their chemical stores. It was probably prompted by the HazMat incident from before, which made Ken feel like the world’s greatest asshole. On some level, he was aware that this was on Peter, and on Stark—if the guy was going to clandestinely enable a fifteen-year-old to fight crime he should at least foot the costs, not make the kid siphon off the school for supplies. Stark could buy entire islands on a whim; a lab or three shouldn’t be a problem.

But Stark didn’t, and Peter did, and now Ken got to be the bad guy handing out the pink slip and making Roger take the fall. Never mind that Roger had been the one glued to the floor and as clueless as the rest of them. He was the department head, and even if he didn’t steal the chemicals, it was also his responsibility to make sure they didn’t get stolen. “I don’t know” was worthless as a defense.

“I don’t want to fire my staff without proof,” Ken had insisted. “And that HazMat thing was not his fault.” But in the end, he was overruled.

Some days he really hated his job.

He didn’t see Peter until the day of Roger’s firing. Upon hearing the news, the entire decathlon team stormed his office. Peter and Ned were last, their backs against the door.

“What the heck?” Michelle fired off. “Why’s Mr Harrington leaving?”

Ken sighed and busted out the HR line. “He’s leaving to pursue other opportunities.”

“You mean he’s fired,” Michelle corrected flatly. “No teacher willingly ‘pursues other opportunities’ mid-year.”

Smart kid. They all were.

He couldn’t tell the kids why, not even an oblique version. Part of being management was walking the party line, even if he disagreed. Kids didn’t, and shouldn’t, need to know the administrative details of their teachers.

“There were some things he should’ve handled differently.” He caught Peter’s eyes.

“What, the HazMat?” Michelle’s nose crinkled in disgust. “That wasn’t his fault and you know it.”

“You just fired him?” Flash broke in. “What, don’t you give warnings? Second chances? That’s it, just like that?”

“Sorry kids, I can’t discuss this.” The weariness in his voice wasn’t the least bit forced. He has already said too much. Behind the rest, Peter looked stricken, horror and guilt dawning.

“What’ll happen to the decathlon team?” Cindy asked.

That he could answer. “It’ll be cancelled unless another teacher decides to sponsor it. I’ve asked several. If it goes through I’ll let you know.”

Maybe he could’ve warned Peter if Peter hadn’t chosen this time to be an angel. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference if they wanted a scapegoat. Maybe Peter would’ve done something stupid like try to sneak in replacement chemicals, ah-ha, the entire investigative team just happened to miss them all. Never mind that chemicals were tracked by lots. Never mind that the dates would be all wrong.

Maybe. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

_Damn it, Peter._

Ken wished he could’ve covered it up. That no one had to get hurt. But sometimes the best cover was to let things take their natural course. He could choose to save the teacher, or save the student. He chose the student.

Maybe he’d regret that choice. Maybe he wouldn’t.

“I’d hire you back in a heartbeat if it was up to me,” Ken told Roger later. Small consolation, that. Roger’s mouth twisted but he didn’t reply. A handshake, a slow march out.

Ken noticed Spider-Man conserved his webbing for several weeks after that.

 

**4.**

Parent-teacher conferences were nightmares for teachers. Usually parents were only invited in if there was a problem. From that point forward there was a myriad of possibilities: the parents could support the teacher’s concerns (best case scenario, and not as common as it should be), the parents could argue with the teacher, the parents could declare they were all fucktards and threaten to sue (or worse)…

As the principal, Ken missed most of the drama in terms of quantity, but the drama from the worst offenders and/or their families made up for it with quality. He was in the foyer catching his breath after one such charming conversation when he spotted a familiar face. “Ned?”

Ned turned and reddened. “H-hi, Mr Morita.” He moved to hide behind his father.

His mother chuckled a little and offered her hand. “I’m Jasmine.”

“I’m Ray,” Ned’s father added.

“Ken.” Ken shook both their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” He quirked a brow at Ned, who turned even redder and trudged away. “I’m surprised to see you here. Ned’s a good kid.”

“Oh, we actually requested to meet.” Ray glanced back at his son. “We’ve been worried about Ned lately, and we wanted to ask all his teachers their thoughts.”

“Oh?” Typically it was the school asking the parents if things were okay, not the other way around.

The smile fell off Jasmine’s face. She lowered her voice. “All of his teachers say the same thing: he’s smart, does his work, doesn’t make trouble, bright future ahead. But he’s been acting so strange. He’s jumpy, he’s furtive, he doesn’t sleep well. He’s always out with Peter.” She sighed softly. “We like Peter, don’t get me wrong, but we’re concerned. He’s so different now.”

“He has been through a lot,” Ken answered, careful but honest. The Washington Monument incident alone was enough to give anyone nightmares for months. Add in the Shocker, the Department of Damage Control, and being Spider-Man’s associate in general…well, Ken was surprised that Ned hasn’t changed more.

Ray shook his head. “I’d suspect drugs but it doesn’t fit. He’s not suddenly rolling in money or burning through his allowance. He's always exactly where he says he’d be. Just…odder.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Ken lied. “His grades and attendance are fine.”

“Yeah. Well, we’re parents. We worry. I hope Peter isn’t being a bad influence. I hate to even think that of the boy, he seems so nice. But…”

“You know what?” Ken allowed his smile to broaden like he was sharing a secret. “You heard that Peter got an internship at Stark Industries, right? And Ned’s his best friend. I bet you Peter shows off his work to his best friend. Of course, Tony Stark enforces his NDA pretty hard, so…”

Ned’s parents looked alarmed. “Tony Stark? We can’t—”

“I wouldn’t worry. What’s Tony Stark going to do, sue two kids? Like he doesn’t have enough billions?” It was throwing Stark under the bus a little, but Ken didn’t feel too badly about that. “It’s not like they have the funds or the ability to build anything Stark’s making. It’s probably just kids showing off to each other. Some kids have cars, Peter has his research.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jasmine said slowly. “It would explain why he’s always running off with Peter.”

Ray looked a little troubled, but less so than before. “We should probably discourage that though. What if something slips out to the wrong person?”

“That’s a good idea. Kids can’t keep a secret.” It wasn’t much of a lie.

 

**5.**

Saturday night dinner looked to be the same as the last five dinners: frozen dinners in the microwave and a side of eggs. Strange combo, but he didn’t care. Except he was out of eggs. And milk. And soy sauce. And a half dozen other staples.

God, how was this his life.

He considered delivery, but in light of his budget, waistline (not that frozen dinners were much help there either), and prospective good health he decided against it. So he threw on jeans and a sweatshirt and lurched out for some groceries.

He was crossing the street on a green light when someone yelled “watch out!” just before something hard and fast slammed into his left elbow. Ken pitched forward and hit the asphalt, barely catching the fall with his other arm. A microsecond later, something spurted against his back, thick and sticky, effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Oh shit.” A blue and red blur landed beside him, pushing the forming crowd aside. “I’m sorry, I was too slow, here—” he peeled off the webbing like it was nothing, anxiously chattering the entire time. “Man, that bike messenger didn’t even stop, he nearly ran you over, could he be any more—are you okay?”

Wincing, Ken dabbed at his face with a hand; it came back red. His left arm hurt from where the bike clipped him, his right arm hurt from the fall, his face hurt from where it scraped the ground. Great. “I’ll live.”

“Here, let me help,” red-clad gloves caught his arms; Spider-Man easily lifted him to his feet like he weighed nothing. “Are you sure you’re okay—Mr—?” The last words froze in the kid’s throat as he recognized his victim, the white lenses of his mask widening. “—mister?”

Jesus. “Thanks,” he interrupted loudly lest the kid said anything even more incriminating. The muscles in his face burned. “Can you help me over there? I’m blocking the way.”

Spider-Man helped him cross again until he was leaning against a wall. The costumed wonder caught the eyes of several passerby, but he waved them off cheerfully: “Hi! Nice to see you again! No, I’m good, don’t worry about it. Hey, how’s your cat?” Kid was damn near signing autographs.

He must’ve rolled his eyes or snorted or something, because Spider-Man suddenly turned around, all earnest concern again. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” He patted himself down gingerly. Lots of things hurt, nothing seemed bad. “How many hours a night do you do this?”

“Um…” Spider-Man trailed off, sounding like he was either counting or he was debating whether to answer. “Seven or eight?”

Ken laughed a little. Maybe not needing sleep was one of his superpowers too. “Can I give you some unsolicited advice?”

“Uh…sure?” The lenses of the mask shifted; Ken assumed he was blinking.

“I’m assuming you wear a mask because you want to remain anonymous. You should mask your voice. Take it from someone who learned the hard way that personal and professional are best kept separate.”  Ken refrained from adding, _your opponents will take you more seriously too._

“Huh.” Spider-Man did a neat little backflip up the wall, crawling into the shadow of the alley. Ken thought he’d left until his (unchanged) voice piped out, “yeah, I should do that. Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence, then Spider-Man added, “what are you doing out here?”

Oh, they were chatting now. Probably why he ducked into the shadows, to pretend they didn’t know each other. Though Ken suspected it wasn’t out of character for Spider-Man (Spider-Boy?) to make friends wherever he went.

Ken sighed. “Groceries.”

“You look pretty beat up. Want me to grab them for you?”

There were not enough words to describe how weird it would be to have a superhero, who was also his student, making a grocery run for him. Ken barked a laugh. “Thanks, but no thanks. You sound young enough to be one of my kids. Like I said: personal, professional.”

“You have kids?”

“I’m a teacher. For now.”

“For now?”

“I’m on thin ice.” His little stunt with Damage Control actually earned him points with his boss—they didn’t agree on everything, but they both agreed the kids came first. Not that that would save him if the suits wanted him gone. Still, it was a nice change after the HazMat fiasco.

He leaned back into the wall, the brownstone cool against his scalp. He kept his eyes on the faraway buildings, not searching the shadows behind him. “Don’t make this into your life.” He wished he could talk the kid out of this.

“Is this one of those ‘stay in school’ speeches?” There was a smile in his voice.

“Maybe. We can’t all be Tony Stark.”

“Hey, I’ve met Tony Stark. He’s pretty cool.”

“I’m sure he is. Still don’t like him.”

“You want to tell him off?” Now the kid just sounded amused.

Ken snorted. “Please. Yelling at Tony Stark is way above my paygrade. I’m not even allowed to yell at the parents.” That earned him a laugh from the shadows.

Ken thought of Leipzig, of Spider-Man and the Avengers. Maybe there had been complications to the Accords that no outsider knew about. Peter would eventually choose his own side, and maybe Ken was biased, but he wondered: if Peter had known the whole story, would he have sided with Stark? Would he still side with Stark if he had to take off the mask?

Something for Peter to think about.

“Hey, sorry,” the kid said suddenly, apologetically, “I gotta go.”

“Stay safe out there.” A scritch of high-tech fabric, a hiss of fired webbing, and he was gone.

Ken dropped his gaze to the ground, staring at the wadded ball of spider silk Peter had peeled from his back. _Damn it, Peter._

_We can_ _’t help everyone, but everyone can help someone._ Those weren’t Captain America’s words, but they were words he lived by. Words Jim Morita lived by. Ken tried, too.

He wasn’t a hero. He was just a high school principal. But this?

For now, he could do this.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess technically the last one isn't so much Ken covering for Peter, but he was telling Peter ways to cover for himself, which kind of counts?
> 
> May being a nurse is a detail I mined from the Amazing Spider-Man movies. (It would also help with any injuries Peter brings home.)
> 
> Obviously DODC flaunted proper procedure to hell and back in this story, but since they drew guns on construction crew legally allowed to be on site I don't think they like playing by the rules. That said, many of these situations (the Damage Control especially) seem implausible for a high school principal to pull off with no adverse consequences. If I ever get around to writing a third part, our principal will be up shit creek without a paddle. Or maybe Tony steps in and smoothes over everything. (Hmm, that could be a decent setup for part three...)


End file.
